


a silent goddess among mortals

by reindeerjumper



Category: The Alienist (TV), The Alienist - Caleb Carr
Genre: Character Death Fix, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14161251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Japheth Drury is dead. Kreizler is struggling with the loss, but luckily Mary is there to comfort him.





	a silent goddess among mortals

**Author's Note:**

> I refuse to accept that Mary is dead, solely for the fact that Laszlo needs a hug. Takes place after the season finale. Both characters are a mix of the book and television depictions—in the book, Mary can speak few words, and Laszlo’s arm isn’t completely paralyzed.

“I’m exhausted,” he had said before giving his colleagues a sad smile.

It was a bone deep exhaustion, the type of exhaustion that made him quiet and irritable. It was the kind of exhaustion that was a result of running a race with no ending. He had been so close to the finish line before it was ripped from his grasp.

After exchanging niceties with Sara and John, Laszlo disappeared into the darkness of his home. His jacket was gone, thrown over a chair or maybe left in the hansom. The silk bow tie he had worn to the opera was also discarded, probably shoved into the pocket of the jacket. He didn’t care. Behind him, he could hear Sara and John’s low voices, Sara laughing at something John said, and John’s boisterous voice echoing from the parlor. Let them celebrate, he thought to himself.

With slow, plodding footsteps, Laszlo ascended the staircase towards his bedroom. He craved warmth and comfort, somewhere he wouldn’t have to speak or think. He somehow managed to make it to his bedroom door and with a heavy hand he turned the knob and pushed the oaken slab inward.

A fire was slowly burning in the room, casting shadows where the electric lights couldn’t reach. He could see his nightshirt and robe set out on a wingback chair near the fire, his slippers neatly tucked underneath. On his opposite side sat the washbasin, and Laszlo was suddenly aware of the layer of grime that coated his skin. He dragged his good hand across the back of his neck as he let out a long, slow release of air from between his lips.

Across the room, something rustled, and he lifted his head to see.

Propping herself up on the pillows of his bed was Mary. Her ebony hair lay around her shoulders in soft waves, and he could see the glimmer of skin on her collarbone from the square cut of her nightgown. She looked as if she had dozed off, and Laszlo cursed the hour and for waking her.

“Please, Mary, don’t worry,” he said softly, holding a hand up to stop her from getting out of bed. He watched as she hesitantly sank back amongst the goose down pillows, her hands clasped in her lap as she watched him with an intense, concerned gaze. Laszlo gave her a smile in the hopes that it would quell her concern.

Closing the door behind him, Laszlo made his way over to the washbasin. He placed the bar of soap in his bad hand, gently squeezing it with his stronger hand to create a lather. Placing it back on the dish, he then scrubbed his face clean, finding comfort in the cinnamon tang of the soap. With some effort, he rinsed his face and patted it dry with a towel before turning back towards the four-poster bed.

Mary still sat there, a silent goddess among mortals. The sight of her in his bed still made the breath catch in Laszlo’s throat, and he had to swallow heavily before making his way to the chair by the fire. His back was now to her, the fire steadily burning in front of him and making him realize the damp chill that had permeated his clothing from the reservoir. He one-handedly undid his waistcoat, placing it on the arm of the chair, before beginning on the buttons of his shirt. His fingers felt numb and slow, each button taking an inordinate amount of time to undo.

Suddenly, he felt Mary’s presence behind him, her hands gently skirting up the shirt on his back and settling on his shoulders. With a quiet force that held him captive, Mary turned him towards her. She was just a hair’s breadth from him, her dark eyes searching his face as her hands settled on his chest. Without thought, he covered her hand with his left, squeezing it as if to make sure she was real.

“Hello,” he said softly, his eyes darting across her face before settling on her mouth. He bent forward, capturing her lips with his. She tasted like sweet mint and sleep.

As he broke away from her, she smiled at him, her whole face lighting up. He felt himself grinning in return and the tension in his shoulders bled away. Unable to help himself, he bent forward again and claimed her mouth with his. She sighed into the kiss, her fingers grabbing at the fabric of his shirt as he brought his hand up to gently cup the softness of her cheek.

With some difficulty, Mary pulled away from Laszlo’s embrace, her breath coming in short, erratic spurts. She smiled again before dipping her eyes down to busy herself with the rest of Laszlo’s buttons. Fondly, she shook her head as her nimble fingers pushed the buttons through their respective buttonholes. Laszlo took the opportunity to openly stare at her as she worked.

Mary’s eyelashes brushed against the high contour of her cheekbones as she sleepily blinked, watching her own fingers work the buttons of his shirt. He was mesmerized by the soft waves of her hair, so different from the style she usually kept it in. Her hair was thick--thicker than most people’s--and it fell in such uniformity around her shoulders that he was sure its symmetry was just an ode to her perfection. As she undid the last button of his shirt, he lifted a hand to gently tuck one of the tendrils behind her ear, letting his fingertip trail slowly down the shell of her ear.

She now looked up at him, her full lips parted. Laszlo allowed his fingertip to skirt down the strong line of her jaw before running along the edge of her lower lip, finally resting on the plump softness of her parted mouth. Mary smiled against his finger, the coolness of her hands skirting underneath the damp fabric of his shirt and pulling him into her embrace. Laszlo felt himself sigh, relishing the warmth of her arms against his chilled skin. She laid her head against his chest, pulling him in closer to her as he brought his arm around her shoulders.

“You are quite beautiful, Mary,” he murmured into her hair, and he could feel the curl of her smile against his collarbone.

Mary pressed a kiss to his skin in thanks before pushing his shirt off of his shoulders. Laszlo took a step back, catching the shirt in his hand before placing it on top of his waistcoat. Mary was now kneeling in front of him, busying herself with his shoes, socks and garters, slipping them off and stashing them beneath the chair. Laszlo unbuttoned his trousers and let them pool around his ankles, gingerly stepping out of them before Mary whisked them away to be placed on top of the forgotten shirt and waistcoat.

Laszlo now stood in his drawers, the heat of the fire behind him warming his back. He swallowed heavily again as he watched Mary pick up his nightshirt. With gentle assuredness, she handed the garment to him before quickly loosening the ties on his drawers. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them off of Laszlo’s hips, and he could feel the heat now licking against his damp skin. Mary smiled at him, dragging her nails through the hair of his beard before nodding towards the nightshirt still dumbly hanging from his hands.

He watched as she turned her back and headed towards the bed. With fumbling quickness, Laszlo pulled the nightshirt over his head as he blindly followed Mary. He could hear her turning the electric lights off, plunging the room into flickering shadows. When he finally reemerged from the cotton entrapment, he could see Mary perched on the edge of the bed, her hand patting the space next to her.

What little exhaustion Laszlo harbored slipped away as he slid onto the bed next to Mary. She tucked her feet under the blankets, sliding herself down and settling amongst the pillows. Laszlo followed suit, turning his body towards hers and curling himself around her, the gentle thud of her heart making itself known against his ear. Laszlo could feel her arm around his shoulders as the steadiness of her breathing calmed him down and turned off his thoughts.

He could smell the lavender on her skin mixed with the woodsmoke from the fire. It amazed him how much comfort he sought in her. Her other hand had come up to bury itself in his hair, loosening the pomade that kept it rigid and styled. Unbidden, his eyes closed as he tilted his head into her ministrations. He could feel her chuckling, and he smiled to himself.

They sat like that for some time, Mary’s hand gently running through his hair and beard as he tightened his grip across her lap. Laszlo listened to the fire crackling in the grate and the steady breathing of Mary, trying to shake off the encompassing sense of failure he felt over Japheth Drury.

Unable to stop himself from thinking about those last moments of Japheth’s life, he spoke.

“He’s dead,” he said simply. Laszlo took Mary’s hand from his beard, pressing a kiss to the scar on her finger before threading his own fingers through hers. “I was so close, Mary. So close. All those months of research and the miles covered, and all I was able to accomplish was seeing him with my own two eyes. If I had just been given time, I could have understood the motivation behind the act.” Here, Laszlo paused. Mary’s free hand had snaked its way around his shoulders to take his earlobe in her fingers. She gently rubbed the skin there, a comforting gesture that lulled him into silence. “He practically died in my arms. Connor shot him.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

At the mention of Connor’s name, Laszlo felt Mary tense beneath him.

“Never fear, Mary,” Laszlo whispered. He dragged a fingertip down the ragged scar on Mary’s forearm, a souvenir from Connor’s assault on the staircase of his home. He still hated himself for not being there to protect Mary...if only he had gotten back a few moments earlier, the scar wouldn’t exist. “He’s dead, too.”

At this declaration, he heard Mary let out a ragged sob. Bolting upright, Laszlo searched her face in the firelight and was crushed to see it tearstained. Gently, Laszlo brought his hands up to cup her face, his thumb brushing away the wetness that was now spilling down her cheeks. He leaned forward to kiss her brow, her nose, her cheeks and her mouth.

“Mary,” he whispered. “Mary. He can never hurt you again.”

At this, Mary covered Laszlo’s hands with her own before choking out, “Oh...Laszlo.”

Laszlo placed his forehead against hers, a soft laugh escaping his lips—the sound of his name from her mouth was still so new, so raw, and it never ceased to amaze him.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her soundly.

All Mary could do was nod against him before kissing him back. 


End file.
